Tearing Down The Walls
by ShadowSocks
Summary: Quinn Fabray is the new girl, she has a bad attitude,a smoking addiction and killer pink hair, but her problems lie with her abusive father. She's damaged and broken and thought nothing could change that- then Rachel began to crack the surface. Faberry
1. Fresh Meat

"McKinley welcomes you Miss Fabray," my new, Indian principle says to me with a hesitant look on his face. I shoot him a smarmy smile and he drops his gaze and ruffles the papers that are laid on his frayed, wooden desk. "I know you've had some problems at your last um," he stops to check the paper in his hand and swallows hard, "seven schools, but I think you'll settle down at McKinley in no time." Even before he says the last words I can tell he has absolutely no faith in his words. He straightens his tie then looks at me with a wan smile, expecting me to say something but not particularly wanting me to.

I smile sweetly and push myself up out of the chair. "Thanks but, I wouldn't count on it," I retort before leaving the room and letting the door shut with a hefty slam behind me.

I sigh to myself as I walk down the corridor that is packed with students that are constantly getting in my way. "All I want to do is find my damned locker," I mumble to myself. I feel something connect with my right arm, rolling my eyes as I shoulder barge a short brunette girl. She lets out a small cry of shock as she drops her books. I turn around to look at her and smirk. I can almost guarantee that this girl gets bullied by the entirety of the school, has no friends and definitely tries too hard. My gaze sweeps from the pink, sparkly head bank, over to the knitted horse sweater and down to her overly long plaid skirt complete with knee length socks. I smirk even more. She shoots me a fierce look but doesn't say anything; she just proceeds to gather her books. I'm about to turn back when I hear a small voice come up from the floor.

"Why don't you watch it next time," the girl says, barely above a whisper. I lock eye contact with her and glare.

"What?" I snap.

"You... you knocked everything out of my hands, and didn't even say sorry!" She snaps back, louder this time.

I scoff. "Why would I do that? Just pick your shit up and get out of my sight _princess_," I say the last word sarcastically. The girl bites her lip and turns her attention back to her scattered books and papers on the floor as though I weren't there. "That's what I thought."

I leave the girl behind in the corridor and continue my search for my locker. I un-crumple the piece of paper with all my information on. "Ugh," I say as I look at my time table. I have English next, great. I hate poetry and frickin' Shakespeare. Eventually I find my locker. I enter the combination and hit it when it refuses to unlock. I try again, this time it works. I frown as I realise the previous user left some of their crap in here. I pull out a Yale prospectus and a small, round badge which says 'Go Cheerios' on it and toss them both to the floor, shoving my bag and books in their place.

The period bell sounds and I grab my pencil case and books from the locker. English is in room four. I have no idea where that is. I puff out my cheeks in frustration and make my way through the corridor, scanning the number plastered on every class room door.

_Seven_

_Six_

_Five_

I stop outside of four. The corridors are silent now, everyone's already in class. I open the door without knocking and the whole of the room fixes their attention on me as I stroll in, interrupting the teacher's sleep-inducing flow of speech. I look for the owner of the thrilling voice. An old woman shuffles over, firstly greeting me with a warm smile but then looks a bit taken aback when she notices my attire. Dyed pink hair, black band T-shirt, leather jacket, dark, ripped skinny jeans and a ragged pair of Doc Martins. It's easy to see why old people think that teenagers are just out to stab them. I let my head roll to my shoulder, waiting for her to get a move on and finish telling me what to do. Eventually, she points to an empty seat on a joint desk at the back of the room. I notice who my desk-mate is and raise an eyebrow. _You've got to be kidding me, _I think. It's the girl from before. Well this should be fun. She hasn't noticed me yet, she's too busy writing something down on lined paper that is decorated with golden star stickers. I roll my eyes. I pull my seat out heavily, making her jump and draw a huge line down her page. She says something under her breath before looking up at me and instantly her face clouds with anger. She then looks around the room, possibly for an empty seat but returns to her ruined page when she realises she's stuck with me. I take my seat, the teacher resumes talking and I look at what the girl was writing through the corner of my eye. Song lyrics. Ah, she's a music geek, probably with some big dream of making it in the world as a famous, number one hit singer. I smile to myself and shake my head. If I actually liked her, I'd tell her to save herself a tonne of shit and give up that dream right now.

"Look, I'm sorry about before. I don't want any trouble in this class okay? I'd move but there aren't any other seats so you're going to have to put up with that," a whispering voice breaks me from my thoughts.

I look at the girl callously and whisper back, "Whatever, I don't really give a crap to be honest. Just don't talk to me and keep out of my way and we'll get along like a house on fire."

"You don't have to be so rude about it! You're new here aren't you? You could do with being a bit more friendl-"

"And what makes you think I want to play nice? I don't want friends. I'll be out of here soon anyway so you can have your desk back to yourself in no time."

"Fine, suit yourself. Sooner you're gone the better," She says shaking her head and dropping my gaze.

I grit my teeth. This girl is really pissing me off. Who the hell does she think she is lecturing me like that? What the hell did she know?

For the rest of the lesson, Little Miss Perfect doesn't utter a single word which I'm happy about, though I'm even happier when the bell goes. I pack up my stuff and flee the class room. It's lunch time thank god. This time could not come soon enough; I'm craving desperately for a cigarette. I venture outside, looking for a place to smoke without getting caught. I find a nice quiet spot under the bleachers. I look down at the floor, spotting previous dimps and packets. Apparently this is a popular spot. I dig into my pocket, feeling the familiar touch of plastic. In no time, my smoke is lit and my craving is settled, though my peace is short lived.

"Hey, new girl. This is _our_ place, beat it!" I turn to see three thug looking girls staring at me impatiently with their arms crossed. I hold their eye contact for a second and then blow the wispy grey smoke out and watch it gradually disappear into the air.

"Nah, I kinda like it here," I reply smoothly, still concentrating on the long gone smoke.

"Damn, this girl's brave Sheila," the smallest girl with bird nest like hair says to the large copper-skinned girl. The small girl steps closer to me and plucks the smoke out of my hand. "Girl, do you know who we are?" I look at her dumbly, then back to my cigarette, irritated.

The other large girl walks up besides Bird's Nest. "We're the skanks, we're the kids who smoke 40 a day, take other kid's lunch money and don't give a shit about the rules they have in this joint."

I pull out another cigarette and light it. "I'm failing to see your point here," I say blandly.

Sheila storms forward. "Scram or we'll beat the crap out of you. See that point? We ain't got no time for people like you."

I laugh. "People like me? Take a good look at yourselves, I'm exactly like you. Smoking, bad attitude, devil-may-care appearance. So like I said, I like it here. I kinda fit in, don't you think?" I smile to myself as I watch the girls start to glance at each other. They know I'm right.

To my annoyance, Shelia takes the new cigarette out of my hand but says, "Alright. We're not going to beat the shit out of you...today. But the moment you step out of line, you're a goner." I nod and she continues, "I'm Sheila, that's Ronnie," she says pointing to the other large girl who's wearing a shiny black cap, "and that's The Mack," she gestures to Bird's Nest and hands me my cigarette back after taking a couple of drags.

I inhale and between drags I say, "I'm Quinn." They all nod their heads in acceptance and pull their own packs of smokes out whilst counting the lunch money they'd bullied out of kids today and talking about who their next victims were going to be.

Maybe that god-annoying brunette girl was right, maybe friends weren't such a bad idea after all, though I'm not quite sure this is what she had in mind. Sweet.


	2. Home Not so Sweet Home

**The second chapter :) I just wanted to establish some of Quinn's background, delve a little into why she's like the way she is. I hope you enjoy it, thank you for reading, oh and, Happy St Georges day :D**

* * *

I'm sat in the library on a free period when the last bell sounds. _Thank God, _I think to myself as I start to cram my stuff into my bag. I've been sitting here for an hour not doing my work like I'm supposed to but doodling all over my English book instead.

"That's really good," a quiet voice says, making me jump. The brunette girl stares down at s sketched image of William Shakespeare that I drew from the back of my Othello book. "Y'know, it would have been his 448th birthday today?" She informs me, slightly laughing.

I close my book and shove it in my bag with everything else. "Good to know," I reply sarcastically. I get up to leave and to my annoyance, I hear her scuffle after me.

"I saw who you were hanging out with at lunch break and I don't-" I turn around sharply, and glower at her.

"You don't think what? Don't think that those are the type of people I want to be around? Take a good look at me Man Hands." She flinches at her new nickname and starts to interrupt but I continue, "I'm just like them, so think again," I tell her, nearly yelling it in her face. She drops her gaze and rubs her arm in self-comfort and for a moment I wonder if she's going to cry. "Why do you even care?" I snap.

"I-I don't, it's just that you're new and principle Figgins asked me to-"

"Oh I don't believe this. He's made you into my personal guidance counsellor? Well," I start, "you can run on back to Figs and tell him to shove it. I'm perfectly happy hanging out with The Skanks- It's not like I'll be here long anyway."

"Why? Don't you care about your education or your future?" She asks, almost certainly already knowing the answer.

"Not anymore," I smirk as I leave her and the library behind.

I'm on my way home which is about a fifteen minute walk from McKinley and I'm thankful for the mild April weather. _Least it's not raining_, I think. I pull out my pack of cigarettes that are wedged in a hefty psychology text book. I spark the lighter and inhale as I'm instantly hit by a nicotine rush. I stumble but manage to steady myself.

I'm stood outside my front door, trying to figure out if my dad's home or not. I exhale steadily, unlock the door and walk in almost silently. The house is still and quiet and I feel a wave of relief wash over me.

I take no more than five steps towards the stairs when I hear my father's low grumble address me from the living room, "Quinn." It's not a question, it's a statement. I stay where I am and hear him manoeuvre out of the chair. Heavy footsteps plod their way towards me and already I catch a faint whiff of alcohol.

He comes into view. He's wearing a grubby T-shirt and tatty jeans. He's unshaven and his hair is wild and unkempt. I turn away from him in disgust but he cups my chin with his hand and forces me to look at him. His eyes look violent but somewhat amused.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you Quinn!" He spits. He pauses for a moment and looks me up and down whilst swaying on the spot. "Look at you, you're a disgrace. You think you look _cool _dressed like that?" He scoffs loudly. "Your mother would be ashamed of you if she was still alive, but you took care of that one didn't you _Quinnie?"_ He says mocking me with my parent's favourite, old pet-name for me.

I glare at him as something hot begins to burn deep in the pit of my stomach and course its way to my head, making my cheeks flare. I hate it when he brings mom up and he damned well knows it. After all, he blames me for her death. I was the one driving that night, I was the one who lost control and crashed and I was the one who survived. He told me that he could and would never forgive me for that.

I phase out of the painful memories and focus my attention back on my swaying father, anger is surging throughout my body, igniting every hair, every nerve ending and makes my skin tingle with fury. "Yeah? Same could be said for you," I shout. "Look at you; you're a pathetic, old drun-"

A heavy fist connects with the left side of my face and cuts me off, sending me crashing into the stairs. I clutch my left cheek, already feeling it swell around my eye. That's going to bruise. I then stare back at my drunken father with apathy, trying to hide every emotion and every thought I'm enduring right now just so he can't get any satisfaction from my pain. His eyes are wild and unforgiving with no sign of remorse, why would they? This isn't the first time my father has hit me; sometimes I don't even have to open my mouth.

He opens his mouth and once again I'm flooded with the stench of methylated spirits. "Now get the fuck out of my sight," he slurs as I haul myself up and run upstairs and into my room, slamming the door behind me. I launch myself onto my bed and burry my head into my pillow, letting my tears turn the soft cotton damp.

It wasn't always like this. Back when my mom was alive, my dad never raised a hand to me and the only time he drank was a couple of beers on the odd Sunday evening. As for me? I was _daddy's little girl_. Long, flowing, blonde hair as opposed to my short, choppy, pink do. I was captain of the cheerleading squad; everyone looked up to me and admired me. I considered my life damn near perfect. I had everything a teenage girl could possibly want and then some, but after the crash, everything changed. Everything and everyone I'd once known no longer mattered to me. I was so angry at myself and at the world and I did everything I could to destroy all the good things in my life that I'd managed to build up.

The more my dad abused and blamed me, the more I took to abusing and blaming myself. First I thought drink would solve my problems, just like my old man, and I got expelled from my first school for strolling into class wasted. Bottle of vodka in my hand and everything. When I realised that alcohol just made things worse and topped it off with a killer headache, I began cutting. My stomach and shoulders are lined with pink scars and angry red cuts that haven't even begun to heal yet. I used to make fun of the kids that cut but I shortly realised why they did it. I found that it blocked out emotional pain and replaced it with physical pain, making me forget everything that had happened and how I felt if only for a few moments. I kept on wanting to forget so I kept on doing it. Cutting deeper when the emotional pain got worse.

I sit up, feeling tears slide hot down my cheeks, making the swelling around my eye and on my cheek sting slightly. I remember my promise not to self-harm anymore and fight the urge to do so. Instead, I distract myself by wiping my eyes, getting rid of my running makeup. I pull out a smoke and hang out of my window as the toxins ease my stress a little. I sigh to myself. Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance and another day closer to me getting the hell out of this way and as far away from my father as possible. A soft smile plays on my lips. Yeah, roll on tomorrow.


	3. Inspirations

I stare at myself in the mirror, more specifically my black eye- courtesy of my father. I wince as I start to apply a coat of concealer over the tender, bruised skin. The last thing I want is people asking questions and sticking their noses in places that don't concern them.  
I finish covering up my shiner as best I can. I nod to myself. Not too bad, hopefully no one will notice. Even so, I'm thankful- this isn't the worse thing I've ever had to cover up.

I open my bedroom door and listen. Nothing in the house stirs except for the nasally snoring coming from my father's room. I clench my jaw and silently slip downstairs and into the kitchen to grab a breakfast bar being as fast and as quiet as I can so I don't wake my father. Five minutes later and I'm leaving the house and en route to school. The only reason I even bother going is because it's a much better option than to stay at home with my alcoholic, abusive father.

I'm walking on the side walk as cars of all shapes and colours whiz past me, eager to get to where they're going. I wish I still had a car. My dad forbid me to ever have one again whilst I was under his roof after the crash. Not as much for my own safety but for _other people's _as he told me. I remember the sting that comment left. It was the start of our downfall. He first started out mentally torturing me with little comments like that and I'd soak them up like a sponge, getting all worked up and upset. Then after I began to come to terms with the fact that my father cared more about booze than he did his own daughter, the punches were thrown. The first time he had hit me was after he had called me a disgusting person and I'd replied with 'whatever'. He'd realised I didn't care what he had to say but made damned well sure I'd care about his next move. I remember just sitting there, holding my face in silence, not even daring to cry or even breath noticeably. I thought if I sat as still as possible he'd go away or realise what he'd done and tell me he didn't mean it- but he did. He stood there and watched me with a smug, satisfactory look on his face until he saw the first sign of a reaction leak from my tear ducts.

I shudder at the memory and decided to count the number of red cars as a way to distract me. By the time I get to McKinley, I've counted 78 red cars. I look around and spot The Mack skulking off to our spot under the bleachers. I follow her. All three Skanks are there sharing a morning smoke. I pull one out and head over to join them. They notice me and give me a curt nod.

"Sup Fabray?" Ronnie says.

"The sky," I reply callously, though I don't think she understands as she shrugs and turns her attention back to her burning cigarette.

"We need to get some lunch money off of someone today. I've nearly run out of smokes," Sheila tells us. The other two skanks chirp in agreement and then they all turn their heads to me expectedly.

I've never bullied a kid for their money before, not really my style. I usually just steal it straight from their unattended bags or coat pockets when they're not looking. It's a skill I've come to perfect, like a modern day, female Artful Dodger or something. If I can't get it that way then I chance my old man's wallet but only when he's passed out for the long haul. If he ever caught me stealing from him I'd come off a lot worse than a black eye.

I realise that the Skanks are still looking at me. "Yeah, totally," I say smoothly, as though I do it all the time without a bother. They seem content with my comment and start discussing who they're going to 'beat the crap out of' for their money. They mention a freshman with an excess of cash that he always seems to carry around, a loner girl that spends most of her break times by herself in the girl's toilets and a kid in a wheelchair. I hope they don't pick the last one, I just wouldn't feel right bullying a cripple for money. Then again isn't that what being a Skank is all about? A lack of morals and care for anything other than cigs, alcohol and money?

They eventually decide on toilet girl, probably feeling too lazy to track the other two down. We finish our smokes and head to our home rooms after deciding to _collect _the money at morning break.

None of the Skanks are in my home room and I don't have a clue where it is, seeing as I skipped it both times yesterday. I feel around at the bottom of my satchel bag, hoping that the information sheet is still crumpled up at the bottom of it somewhere. My fingers brush scratchy paper and I pull out the information sheet. _Room 4. _Isn't that the English room?

I shrug to myself and make my way to the already familiar room. Students are still flooding in so I'm not late. I spot my form tutor sitting at the desk. He looks in his thirty's, curly brown hair that sits stiffly on the top of his head and the most god awful sweater vest I've ever seen. He looks at the crowd of incoming student and then spots me and beckons me over. I roll my eyes, not caring if he notices or not.

"Quinn Fabray right?" He asks. I nod in response. "Good, well I'm Mr Schuester, or Mr Schue, whichever," He smiles. I just look at him. "Okay well, if you need anything or want to know anything just ask and-"

"Okay I got it," I say, cutting him off through impatience.

"Right then, just take a seat," he says, slightly taken aback by my rudeness. He gestures to the row of desks that have been slowly filling up throughout his little welcoming speech. He returns to his own desk and I scan for an empty seat.

"Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me," I mumble when I see that the only free seat is again next to the brunette girl who just so happens to be in the same form too. She looks up at me as I take my seat and I can pretty much guarantee she's thinking the same thing.

"So your name's Quinn?" she asks, trying to make conversation for some reason.

"Yup."

"Well, I'm Rachel Berry… not 'Man Hands' as you called me yesterday," she informs me.

I roll my eyes at her but before I say anything, Mr Schue cuts in, "Okay, settle down, settle down. I'm going to set you all a home room assignment," he tells us, only to receive an echo of protest. He raises his hands and motions for silence before continuing. "I'm going to pair you up and by the end of the week I want you both to give me a little presentation on something or someone that mutually inspires you both." I groan, along with half of the class. How pointless was this? I get he's trying to get the student body to be more creative and involved but really, no one gives a shit.

He starts naming the pairs and the whole time I'm thinking, _Not Man Hands, not Man hands, not Man Hands!_

"Quinn Fabray and…" _Not Man- "_Rachel Berry." _Fuck. _

I look at Rachel and she looks at me with a forced smile before she starts to babble on about her biggest inspirations. I make it clear I'm not up to dealing with her right now and sling my bag over my shoulder whilst heading for the door, probably leaving her still talking.

I have a free period first thing and I'm sure I heard The Mack and Ronnie say they do too, whether it's an official one I don't know. I'm nearly at the school doors when a hand touches my shoulder making me jump. I spin round and glare down at Rachel.

"Stop doing that!" I yell at her.

"Doing what?" she asks innocently.

"Sneaking up on me all the God Damned time and- ugh, never mind. What do you want?"

"You walked out on me in Home room; I just wanted to let you know that I'll plan the presentation on mutual inspirations for Friday. You like Barbra Streisand right? 'Cause that's our inspiration."

"Yeah, okay whatever." I begin to turn around but I am instantly met by something extremely cold, ragged and…fruity hitting my face, stinging my eyes, shooting up my nose and dripping all down me.

"You just got slushied nerds! WOO!" I manage to open my eyes to see a couple of Jocks high five each other as they carry on with their march down the corridor. I wipe my face ineffectively with my hands and turn to Rachel who also has red slushie stuck in her hair, running down her face and staining her clothes- though I suppose that's more of a favour.

"What the fu-"

"It's because you were talking to me," she says squinting, trying to keep the slushie out of her eyes. "Come on, I'll get us cleaned up," she tells me as she grabs my hand and begins leading me somewhere. I would let go but I can't see, and figure getting this junk out of my face and eyes is the best thing to do right now.

I smell the familiar odour of bleach and disinfectant as Rachel leads me into the toilets. She shoves some paper towels in my hands and says, "Here, wipe your face with them, make sure to get it out from behind your ears too, slushies go sticky!" I could tell she'd had this happen to her a lot and for a split second I felt a pang of sympathy which was replaced by shock when she said, "Take your top off." I wiped my eyes clean and stared at her. "So I can get the slushie out, trust me, I've done this so many times. If you don't get it out now then it'll never come off. You might want to rinse your hair under to tap too; you can dry it with the hand dryer." I sighed and shifted out of my T-shirt, kicking myself for wearing a grey top today instead of my usual black.

I hand it to her and bend to the sink to wash my hair. Luckily, the slushie is only caught in the ends of it. Not that it'd really matter with my hair, anyone would just think I've dyed it random colours. I finish with my hair and head over to the hand dryer. Rachel finishes with my top and is about to hand it to me when her eyes cloud with confusion and shifts to concern as she looks me up and down.

"What?" I bark. Her hand reaches out and touches the bare skin on my stomach, her cold touch from the water making me flinch.

_Shit_, I think, I'd totally forgotten about the scars and cuts. My face heats up with embarrassment. No one has ever seen them before.

"Quinn, did you-"

"It's none of your damned business!"

She's looking at my face now, her eyes growing even more worried.

_Double shit! _ The slushie had washed away the concealer that hid my black eye. I feel faint and my/ face heats up so much that I think it's going to combust.

"Quinn I-"

I don't catch the rest of what she says, the blood that's pounding in my ears drowns out her voice and I grab my top out of her hands, shoving it on as fast as possible, not even caring that it's terribly damp against my skin. I run out of the toilettes and towards the bleachers, I just need to get away from her.


	4. Letters to Quinn

I run through the slightly crowded hallways of McKinley, colliding with several people but I don't care, I keep on running. Finally I make it to the doors and run straight towards the bleachers, praying that none of the Skanks will be there.

Before I even get there I know that my prayers have gone unanswered. Already I can smell the faint smell of burning Tobacco. They turn around and look at me questioningly, obviously noticing my flustered, out-of-breath form, teary eyes but most of all, my newly appeared black eye.

I stumble over to Ronnie and The Mack, and Ronnie hands me her cigarette without saying anything, obviously thinking I could use one. I'm grateful for the unusually kind gesture and breathe a "Thank you".

I sit there in silence for a moment, taking a few drags and trying to regain my cool whilst Ronnie and The Mack wait patiently for me to tell them what had happened. I really don't feel like talking but I know they won't let this go. If it eases their boredom just a little or gave them an excuse to beat on someone then they'd want to hear it. I hand the cigarette back to Ronnie.

"Jocks," I say. "That Rachel girl was talking to me about some stupid assignment and they slushied us." I don't care to elaborate on the rest, I'm about to tell them that Rachel had made me take my top off and that she had seen my self-harm or the bruise on my face.

"What about the bruise?" Ronnie asks, pointing to the swollen lump that used to be my eye. I frantically empty my imagination in search of a decent, believable lie to tell them.

"It was for the assignment- some stupid drama crap, don't worry, it's just stage makeup," I say, the words coming out a little too rushed but they both nod and hopefully buy it.

The Mack's the next to speak. "That damned Rachel Berry, who does she think she is? If she hadn't have been talking to you, you wouldn't have gotten slushied!" I bite my lip, I can tell where this is going.

"Yeah," agrees Ronnie. "I think we should teach her a lesson. Don't worry Quinn she won't bother you again. We'll take her lunch money instead at break."

"No, really it's fine, I've already threatened her to stay the hell away from me- us. I think she got the message," I lie again, hoping they'll let it drop.

Mack and Ronnie exchange a look. "Whatever, but if she bothers you again, she won't know what hit her. Us Skanks have a rep to uphold and no prancing music geek is going to ruin that by getting slushies thrown at one of us," says Ronnie curtly, probably pissed that I'd taken away her excuse to beat up Rachel Berry.

It wasn't that I didn't when them to bully Rachel; it was that I was scared that Rachel would retaliate and blab about the things she saw. If that got out to the school, what would happen? I'd get bullied for sure and I couldn't handle that in the one place where I go to escape the abuse I receive at home. I had to find a way to make Little Miss Perfect keep her trap shut.

I don't join the Skanks with their plan for obtaining lunch money at break. Instead I make it my mission to find Rachel and tell her to not say a word about what she saw to anyone. Eventually, I slump against my locker in frustration. I've looked in the Library, in the courtyard, in the cafeteria and in nearly every damned classroom but I can't find her.

I'm just about to give up and go join the Skanks when I hear a faint sound. I realise it's music- a piano which is shortly followed up by one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard. It's a girl's voice, so clear and full of energy. I strain my ears to listen more and follow the sound. I come to a halt outside the auditorium doors, the girl's voice louder than ever. I can now recognise the song she's singing- Funny Girl. The voice sounds so familiar, and I'm itching to open the doors and see who it is, but I really don't want to disturb the singer. Finally, my curiosity wins and I inch the heavy doors open ever so gently and slip in as silently as I can manage. I shut the door softly and begin to turn around. The girl is still singing and I'm thankful I've gone unnoticed.

I feel my eyes widen in shock as I realise that the girl with one of the most amazing voices I've ever heard is the irritating little brunette girl I've been trying to find for the past fifteen minutes.

The song finishes and I notice a small group of kids and my homeroom teacher Mr Schue stand up to applaud her. Rachel smiles and bows slightly then hops off the stage to join the others.

"Okay Guys! Rachel, that was as beautiful and flawless as ever," Mr Schue praises her. "We'll meet again in the choir room at lunch and we can talk over a few numbers for the week."

I watch as Mr Schue and the other kids including a guy in a wheelchair- probably the one the Skanks were talking about- leave through the side exit, leaving Rachel leaning against the stage, reading something on a piece of paper. I turn to leave, still slightly stunned by what I've just seen and heard. I still want to tell her to keep it zipped but I'm not going to do it right in front of the band members who annoyingly are still packing their instruments up.

"Quinn," sounds Rachel's voice from behind me. I sigh and turn around to face her. "What did you think? I saw you come in halfway through and-"

"It was good," I tell her, knowing full well that 'good' is a serious understatement but I wasn't about to make her feel good about herself. The band members finish packing and start to leave. Here's my chance.

She tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear and tugs on the hem of her flowery dress awkwardly. "Listen Quinn, I know why you're here, and honestly I'm not going to say anything but I really think you should talk to someone. You're obviously in a lot of pain to do that to your own body and as for the bruise, I know you didn't run into a door or whatever so-"

"Okay, when you've quite done psychoanalysing me, let me just say, firstly: you don't know a thing about me so stop trying to sound as if you know what's going on inside my head. Secondly: if you do ever say anything to _anyone_, I swear to God I'll make your life a living hell. What I'm dealing with is my issue, not yours or anyone else's so just forget you even saw anything and we can just go back to disliking each other," I say sternly, never dropping her gaze. Her eyes cloud and I can tell I've hurt her.

I turn around again to leave and open the door before she says, "I don't dislike you Quinn." I pause for a moment but I don't say anything, I just let the door close on her. I walk away from the auditorium, feeling slightly relieved that I found her but as each second passes, I start to realise that the things she said about me were right to some extent. My cheeks heat up, flooding with embarrassment and anger and I suddenly feel stupid and transparent.

I find the Skanks in the bathroom, dunking a dark haired girl's head in a lime scale-stained toilet and flush it on her. "Just give us your money and this can all stop," says Sheila calmly. "Hey Fabray, little help? This little bitch isn't paying up," she spits in the girls direction as The Mack pulls her head up out of the water. She takes a deep breath and splutters before being shoved back under.

I run a hand through my pink, dry hair and budge Mack aside as I pull the girl's head out of the toilet. I can feel the Skanks watching me, waiting to see what I'd do and I realise that this is a test. I shove her against the stall wall, gripping her by the collar of her grey animal sweater. "What's your name sweetie?" I hiss sarcastically about three inches away from her dripping face.

"G-Gemma," she says, gasping for air. I press her up against the wall even harder.

"Well, Gemma, how about you give us your lunch money and you can run out of here and carry on with your boring life? If not, then I guess you better get used to having to hold your breath under water, and if that doesn't work then I'm sure we can get creative," I say bitterly. I hear stifled laughter from the Skanks behind me and I can tell that they're amused by what they're seeing.

Gemma digs into her jeans pocket and with a trembling hand, offers me ten dollars. I let go of her and snatch the money. She flees the bathroom in choking tears and I watch her go, suddenly feeling like an ass for taking my anger out on her.

"Nice job Fabray!" Ronnie says excitedly, slapping me on the back. I smile back weakly and shove the money in her hand. "I knew you had it in you." The words stun me slightly. I didn't. After how my father treats me, I never thought I'd be the one to make someone else feel like I do every time he grips me by the neck or every time he grabs me by the arm, hard enough to leave an agonising bruise. Scared, angry, confused, self-loathing. In that moment that I took my anger out on Gemma, losing myself to the dangerous emotion- I was no better than my father. Sure I hadn't hit her but I know damned well that if she had refused to give me the money I would have done. That person wasn't me and it terrified me and I vowed to myself I'd never make someone else feel like that by my hand. Sure I'd watch if someone else did it, but I'd never again do it myself. I sure as hell didn't want to become 'my father's daughter'.

The bell rings and we leave the bathroom. I break away from the Skanks and head over to my locker to get my things for Psychology. I'm not in the mood to listen to a teacher ramble on about child attachments or research methods right now. I just want to curl up in a ball under a thick duvet and shut the rest of the world out- just like I used to do when I was little.

I reach my locker and see a small piece of folded paper wedged in the thin gap leading into my locker. I can't get at it so I have to open my locker door. The paper's labelled: "Quinn" and I can tell who it's from just by the handwriting. The dot on the 'i' has been turned into a star. I feel something well up and lay heavy in my stomach. Why was I so nervous about reading the note?

Hesitantly I open it. It reads:

_Quinn, you're right. I don't know a thing about you but I can tell you're hurting. I don't know why but like you said, that's not my issue. But I really do think you should talk to someone, and seeing as I'm the only one who knows about your habit I'd be more than happy to be a shoulder to cry on- if you ever wanted that is. I told you I don't dislike you and I meant it. I want to help you Quinn, whatever you're going through, I know you deserve better than that. _

_Rachel aka Man Hands._

I screw the letter up in my hand and slump against the row of lockers, and crumple to the floor as I burry my head in my arms in frustration. I'm aware people are staring as they walk past but I really don't give a shit. What was it about this girl? How could she see through me and make me feel like this? I've always wanted to talk to someone, to anyone, just to let loose and unload every emotion I'd ever endured onto them, let them bear my burden too just so I wouldn't have to go through it alone and in silence, but no one else ever cared enough to let me do that- and now here was this girl, offering to be my emotional punching bag like we were friends. I'd been a bitch to her ever since I joined this school and all she wanted to do was try and be a decent person.

_I don't understand Rachel Berry at all_, I think to myself.


	5. Take the Pain Away

_Hey guys, thank you for the reviews and alerts and faves, it means a lot :) Anyway, new chapter, it's quite heavy as things heat up between Quinn and her dad but I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for reading! :) _

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I walk through my front door as quietly as possible. My father's moods are always unpredictable, depending on how much he's managed to drink and I don't want to give him any excuse to take it out on me. I wince when a sudden gust of wind makes the door fly out of my hands and slam behind me.

"Quinn? Is that you honey?" My father's voice calls from the living room.

I stand there in utter shock, completely thrown by the fact that my dad sounds completely sober and with him calling me _honey. _What the hell is this?

Cautiously, I step into the living room and spot my unusually well groomed father sat in the chair with what looks like a cup of tea. He smiles at me and his eyes dart to something. I follow them and spot a smartly dressed woman writing on a clipboard sat in the other armchair.

"Welcome home sweetheart." I visibly flinch at the pet name. "This is Ms Turner, she's from social services," he says, and I catch the shake in his voice. I get it now, he's made himself up to be the perfect dad, pretending to give a crap about me- anything to convince this woman he's a non-abusive, non-drinking, wonderful father. Of course it was all so that they wouldn't take me- and the money he received from the state- and possibly throw his ass in prison. I could do it. I could tell her everything, it'd be that easy, but I wasn't going to. As bad as living here was, I'd heard foster care was a lot worse. Though I wasn't going to tell her anything, I was sure as hell going to make the son of a bitch sweat.

"Hey daddy," I say sweetly, paining me to do so. I notice the slight glint in his eyes that tells me I better not fuck this up for him or else. I swallow. The woman turns to look at me, at first she smiles but when she notices my black eye, her eyebrows knot together. Shit, c'mon Quinn. "Daddy," I say, turning to my fake-father. "I had to go to the nurse today, some stupid boy ran into me, full on shouldering me in the face, I mean, just look!" My father smirks but quickly reforms himself back to good dad.

"Oh Quinnie, you need to be more careful!"

The social worker seems content with my lie and scribbles something on her pad of paper. She then clears her throat and turns to me.

"So, Quinn. How're things here? You doing okay?"

I have my answers prepared, it's not like we've not had these visits from social services before. "Sure am! I mean sure, it's been hard but my dad takes real good care of me," I say through gritted teeth. "I'm his little girl," I throw in a sickly-sweet smile for good measure.

"So, there are no issues, nothing you'd want to discuss with me," she turns to my father, then back to me. "In private?"

I lick my lips, now was my chance to scare my dad. "Well, there is one thing. If someone drinks to excess like, everyday- would that mean they're an alcoholic?" I ask in an innocent voice and congratulate myself on the feigned nativity. The social worker looks at my quizzically.

"Yes, I think I would. Why would you ask that Quinn?" She goads.

"Well, my dad," I carry on with the mock-dumb blond voice and look at my dad. He's fuming in his seat, piercing eyes narrowed on me that are filled with budding rage that he's just itching release. I roll my eyes at him whilst the social worker writes something down and it must be taking all of his will power not to launch out of the chair and beat me until I'm black and blue. "-didn't know when I asked him, it was some school thing. And I figured you would, seeing as you're super clever!" My father seems to settle down but he knows my game, from the stupid, sweet girl act to the devious, sarcastic intent behind it.

"Oh," is all she can say. She then shuts her book and stands up. "Well, I think that's all I need. Thank you Mr Fabray, Quinn," she nods at us. "I'll call you in a couple of days Mr Fabray, just out of routine to let you know everything went smoothly." She smiles and is guided towards the door by my father. I stand perfectly still, watching the person who could end what was going to come after she left the house. I know I brought it on myself but it was worth it to see my sadistic father squirm like a child in his seat, having no clue what I was going to say.

I hear the click of the door as it's pushed to and my dad calmly walks back into the living room, straight past me and into the booze cabinet. He doesn't bother to get a glass, just takes a chug of whisky straight from the bottle. He loosens his tie and throws it to the ground as he slumps heavily in his usual drinking chair. His eyes lock with mine and I swallow with fear. He notices the panic on my face. His lips upturn into a slight sly smile.

"_Quinnie_," he says, his voice full of venom and sarcasm. "Isn't it time you went to your room and did your homework?" I don't say anything; I just stare and see the bitterness flicker across his haggard face. I nod and turn around heading towards the stairs.

Something heavy smashes into the back of my head and liquid soaks my hair and trickles down my back whilst something sharp stings my scalp and my neck. I cry out in pain and drop to the floor. I press a shaky hand to the back of my head and it comes away red. I catch my breath. My father storms over and kicks me square on in the stomach and I'm pretty sure I feel something crack. I clutch my stomach so he kicks me in the back, making me scream in agony. I lay there still, heart racing. He looks disappointed with the reaction he's getting. He kneels down to my face, so close that I could smell the whisky on his breath.

"Next time you want to call the fucking social services how about you don't fuck with me? I could have gone to fucking prison because of your little show in there! Is that what you want Quinn? You want to get rid of both your parents is that it? Kill your mother then send your old man behind bars? Your murderous, vindictive little shit!" He spits at me.

"I-I didn't call them, it wasn't me, I-" He stands up fast and ploughs he right foot into my face, immediately bursting my nose on impact. He then grabs my hair and lifts my head up to his.

"Don't you dare lie to me! I don't deserve this Quinn! How could you be so selfish? I try my best with you but you just throw it all back in my fucking face! You're dead to me Quinn." He throws me back down to the floor with a thud and stomps back to his chair.

I lie motionless for what seems like an eternity. Everything on my body aches and hurts so bad. It feels like little gremlins are slowly clawing away at my flesh from the inside out. I try to move. Big mistake, my whole body ignites in excruciating pain, forcing me to lie still again. A tear slips from my left eye and I mentally curse myself. _Not yet. Not where he can see and hear me, he's not getting the satisfaction of seeing me cry. _The new motivation makes me try to move again. I bite my shirt to stop myself from screaming as I drag myself up one agonising step at a time. Eventually I make it to my room. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror; I'm a sweaty, bloody pathetic mess. I lie on the floor and kick the door shut with my foot.

Tears burst free and flow down my face, making the new cuts and grazes from my father's boot sting, reminding me that this was really happening. I don't remember feeling this bad in a long time. I knew the beating was going to be bad, I just didn't expect it to be _that _bad. I wonder who called the social services. That's what pissed him off the most. He thought it was me and that it was all just a little game to me. Call them, and then mess with his head, leaving him wondering whether I'm going to say anything or not. If I'd have known he'd thought I'd called them, I would have never tried to make him sweat.

I choke on my tears and my chest hurts so badly, from a mixture of the beating and from crying so hard. I swallow hard and look to my drawers. I know one thing that will take the emotional pain away.

I force myself over and gather an orange craft knife from the junk in the drawer. I lean against my bed frame and roll up my shirt over my right shoulder. I find a smooth piece of porcelain skin and press the blade hard into it then quickly drag the blade over my shoulder.

Instantly, pain floods through my arm but it doesn't hurt in a bad way. It's comforting. Now I'm the one in control in the pain, not _him. _Crimson liquid flows down my arm and drips onto the floor. I carry on doing this, on my shoulders, on my stomachs and start on the tops of my legs until I start to feel dizzy and numb. My wooden floor has turned red and my clothes are stained with blood. I smile to myself. It doesn't hurt anymore. The words, the beating. All I can feel now is the liquid on my skin and the dull aching from my self-inflicted wounds.

I try to stand up but my vision spins and I have to lie down on my bed, knowing that I'm bloodying the sheets, but I don't care. I just want to sleep. I just want tomorrow to come.

I manage to roll on to my sides, not bothering to remove any of my clothes, feeling too weak to do so. I feel my eyelids start to become heavy and the sound of blood pounding in my ears starts to lull me to sleep. Finally I give in, and my world turns to black.

_I wake up to a hand smoothing the hair away from my face. I open my eyes and meet the sad gaze of my mother. "Oh Quinne, look at what his did to you. Look at what you did to you."_

"_Mom?" I croak my voice barely above a whisper. She smiles sadly then touches my face and wipes some of the dried blood away. "Mom, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," I start to cry and she catches the tears with her fingers. _

"_It wasn't your fault Quinn, none of this is. Please sweetie, don't hurt yourself like this."_

"_I can't help it mom, I just want to forget the pain and the hurt and what I did and- Oh mom, please come back, please take me away from here I can't-"_

"_Shhh," she soothes and shakes her head in sorrow. "You know I can't do that Quinnie." I reach out to touch her but she gets up and turns her back on me. _

"_Mom!" I yell, setting my stomach and my throat on fire. "Mom, don't! Please don't go! You can't leave me here! Mom!" _

I wake up and gasp for air, chocking on saliva. My eyes dart around my room and my heart breaks into a tiny million pieces when it dawns on me that there's no one else here and once again I'm alone.


	6. Beginnings

_Hey guys, a short but hopefully sweet one tonight! So in the next chapter I'm going to focus more one some new issues for Quinn, including her finding out who called the social services. Also expect some cute Faberry scenes but also some drama! Not only with Rachel but also with The New Directions and The Skanks. I hope you enjoy this chapter and I would love to know your thoughts on it! _

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_Beep.  
Beep.  
Beep._

I turn over groggily and slam a hand down on my alarm clock. I try to sit up but my head pounds with such force that I immediately lie flat on my back again. I stare up at the ceiling, resenting it being only Thursday.

I realise I'm still in yesterday's clothes and covered in dried blood. I look away from the cuts and blood in shame. Now that the good feeling has left, that's all I'm left with. Shame. Disgust. Anger. I wipe my face with my hand and force myself out of bed and into the shower, ignoring my persistent morning headache.

I slump down to the floor and against the tiled wall in the shower as the hot water pounds on my back, washing away the red humiliation that is plastered to my skin. _You're dead to me. _The words play over and over in my mind, digging an even bigger trench of self-hate.

I look at the newly formed cuts on my shoulders, tummy and thighs. Some of them are deep and raw, and you can see right down into the angry looking open flesh. I brush my fingertips over the deepest one which is on my left shoulder and flinch with the pain. Peeling my clothes off opened a few of the wounds and caused them to bleed again. As I wash my matted hair as gently as possible to get all the blood out, the shampoo starts to sting the cuts that the shattered glass made when my dad through his whisky bottle at me. I bite down on my lip hard to stop myself from yelping.

Eventually, I clamber out of the shower and dry myself off with a towel with the little energy I have- staining the white cotton red. I scoff to myself as I look around my bedroom. It looks like someone has been murdered in here with the amount of blood everywhere. I sigh, knowing that I don't have time to clean it all up now, but my father never wanders into my room anyway. There isn't any booze in here.

I fold some tissue up and place it over the bleeding cuts then put fresh clothes on top. A loose, long sleeved black sweatshirt and a pair of navy jeans complete with converse. I didn't want to wear anything that might irritate my cuts and make them bleed again. I try to fix my hair and avoid where my scalp stings. Maybe a slouch hat wasn't such a bad idea today.

I shortly realise that my father isn't in the house; he's probably out 'shopping'. Grabbing a few bits of food and a whole load of beer and spirits, anything with an alcohol percentage.

I skip breakfast, not feeling hungry at all. Instead I just have a few sips of water and head out of the door, towards McKinley.

Every step I take sets my wounds on fire. Not just the cuts but my back and my stomach from where I was kicked. It even hurts to breath and I just pray nothing's broken, though I did notice a viscous bruise starting to form on the side of my ribs. Luckily, my nose isn't broken from where he kicked me in the face, though it sure as hell hurts and I'm positive it's not made the shiner look any better.

I drag myself through the hallway and make my way towards homeroom. I spy Rachel already sat there, doodling in her notebook and I remember the note she left wedged in my locker yesterday. I lump wells up in my throat but I push it down, vowing to be kinder to Rachel today. Right now, she seemed to be the only person that cared. God knows why.

I drop in my seat and mutter a, "Hey" at Rachel, forcing myself to smile. She turns to me in shock that I've actually acknowledged her and not said anything rude or insulting.

"Oh, hey Quinn," she replies shyly, brushing a piece of brunette hair behind her ear, but it lops back to where it was and I bite my lip, resisting the urge to smooth it back behind her ear. She looks at me, taking in the few cuts on my face, left by my father's boot in addition to my black eye which I hoped was beginning to fade by now. She searches my eyes, waiting for me to say something.

"I got your note, thank you," I mutter and her face lights up. "But I don't need your help. What I'm dealing with has nothing to do with you and I'd rather deal with it alone." I glance at her, her face dropping immediately and she lets out a frustrated growl.

"Look at you Quinn, how can you sit here looking like you're been throw into a pool of barb wire and rocks and tell me you don't need help, that you can handle it yourself? Clearly you can't," she finishes softly. Tears begin to well in my eyes and no matter how much I try to force them away they won't go, they start to slide down my cheeks, betraying my feelings. People are right, the truth hurts. No matter how much I want to deal with my issues by myself, I know it's near impossible. Rachel looks at me sadly and reaches out to touch my hand, I let her. Her warm touch is comforting but too much to bear and now I don't bother trying to fight the tears anymore.

She grips my hand and starts to lead me out of the room and towards the bathroom. Once inside the bathroom, without warning, she pulls me into an embrace and I don't resist. I relish the caring gesture- the touch of another human being that isn't causing pain but trying to heal it. She smooths the back of my hair as I sob all my emotions out into her shoulder.

"Please Quinn, please let me in," she whispers. "I can tell you really need a friend, and not some group of girls who couldn't care less about you or what's going on."

I don't say anything, I realise I'm still gripping her tight and she gently pulls away and says, "C'mon, we can't miss homeroom." She grabs some tissue from the dispenser and gently wipes the tears and the running makeup from my face. "There. As pretty as ever," she says, drawing a shy smile out of me.

"Thank you," I croak, feeling my voice crack from the tears. She grabs my hand again and leads me back to room 4. The classroom's full now, Mr Schue included. No one really pays us much attention as we head to our seats.

Rachel still has hold of my hand but lets it go once we sit down and I find myself starting to miss her comforting touch. I clear my throat and ask, "Why do you care so much about what happens to me?"

She looks at me with remorseful chocolate brown eyes. "Because no one should have to endure what you're going through."

"You don't know what I'm going through…" I say quietly, looking away from her and down at my desk.

"Do you think I'm stupid Quinn? I saw the cuts on your body," she lowers her voice. "The type of cuts that are made when a person is hurting so bad inside that the only thing they can take it out on is themselves. And your black eye? Other people may be ignorant but not me."

I force myself to look at her. Her face is full of concern and her eyes are wildly emotional and are staring to tear up. I swallow hard but she continues, "Look, I know you don't want people to know but you need to tell someone, you need to get out of that house Quinn, it's destroying you. I don't know how your parents could treat you so bad to make you do that to yourself," she gestures to where my cuts are hiding under my clothes.

"My mom's dead I whisper. It's just my," I choke out the next word, resenting calling it him, "Father."

"I'm sorry," she apologises as though it was her fault and I shrug.

Mr Schue takes the register and the students begin to file out of the room, with me by Rachel's side.

"I have Drama now," she says.

"I have psychology,"

"So, I guess I'll see you at morning break?" she asks, with a slight tinge of hopefulness in her voice.

"What about your friends?"

"Come and hang out with us," she offers.

I shake my head and her smile drops. "I don't think we'd get along, I mean, I can just about tolerate you and that's only because you found out my deep dark secrets," I joke, but she doesn't laugh.

"I'd really like you to Quinn." The way she says my name sends butterflies coursing through my stomach.

"I'll think about it," I say as a last offer but she grins at my response and without warning, hugs me briefly.

"Thank you! I just, really want to get to know you Quinn, you're a special person. I can tell." I'm stunned by her words, unsure of how to reply, so I don't. We walk in silence for a few moments before her small voice once again wafts into my ears. "We're kind of friends huh?"

I smile. "Kind of."


	7. Realisation

**Hey guys, so here's a new update :) I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for all the alerts and favourites but please try and drop a review! It's really encouraging to know what people think of my story, and it motivates me to write :) Thanks guys!**

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I sit at the back of the class, doodling over my notes, ignoring the teacher and waiting for this lesson to be over. I sigh with relief when the bell sounds and we are dismissed. I start to shove my things in my bag when I spot a familiar brunette girl by the door, looking straight at me with excited chocolate brown eyes. Without realising, I find myself smiling a genuine smile at her. She waves me over, trying to get me to hurry so I role my eyes and make a show of packing up slower on purpose. She smirks and folds her arms.

I get bored of the game and give in and head towards her. "Hey," I greet her. She starts walking with me towards my locker.

"Hey," she copies, smiling up at me. "So, are you coming to meet my friends?" I sigh and her hopeful smile starts to falter. I dump my bag in my locker.

"Rachel, I don't think it's a good idea if I'm honest. I won't fit in." She grabs my hand with both of hers and looks up at me pleadingly. My hearts beats just a little faster and I swallow to regain myself.

"Please Quinn? At least, for five minutes? I promise you'll love them and-"

"What is it with you and wanting me to meet your friends so bad?" I ask, with slight defence in my voice.

"Because I don't think it's doing you any good being with the skanks." We're outside now and I get loose from her hands to dig my cigarettes out of my back pocket. I pull one out and put it to my lips ready to light. I notice the horrified look on Rachel's face. She quickly snatches the cigarette from my mouth and throws it to the side.

"Hey!" I yell at her.

"See; see that's what I mean! You shouldn't smoke Quinn; it's not good for you. I bet the Skanks don't tell you that do they?"

"No, but they don't act like my damned mother either," I retort, getting pissy. A heavy look dawns on Rachel's face.

"Did she know you smoked?" She asks almost silently, afraid I'll get even angrier for her bringing up my dead mother.

I sigh and run a hand through my short locks. "No, well, I only started after she-" I pause, not wanting to say the word out loud. "Believe it or not, my life was pretty darn perfect before it all happened. I used to be blonde and everything," I say and I realise Rachel giggles slightly. "What?" I ask, this time giggling myself. Rachel looks at me and reaches out, touching at strand of my hair between her thumb and finger. She stops laughing and a fond look replaces her laughter. I gulp, heart speeding up again.

"I bet you looked even prettier blonde," she gazes into my eyes, holding my bewildered stare until I look aware, feeling my cheeks graze with heat. She giggles again. "Did I just embarrass Quinn Fabray?" She asks slyly. I look back at her and smirk, pushing her shoulder.

"As if! Right, if you want me to go hang out with your friends, we better stop messing around and get a move on." Rachel Beams at me and clings onto my arm.

"So you're coming?" she asks excitedly.

"Do I speak a different language or something?" She taps me around the head playfully then once again grabs my hand and leads me towards the courtyard.

She lets go off my hand when we stop in front of a group of very different looking people sitting on the courtyard steps. I scan the group and realise that most of the high school stereotypes are represented in this group. Cheerleaders, Jocks, Goths, Nerds. Maybe Rachel is right, maybe I could fit in here.

"Hey Berry, why'd you bring _her_ here?" An African American girl dressed in street clothes asks as she looks me up and down with a look of disregard plastered onto her face. "I don't think any of us want to drown in cigarette smoke and bad attitude." I narrow my eyes, about to reply but a dark haired, Hispanic cheerleader skips towards Rachel, dragging her away from me whilst shooting me a cold glare.

"Yeah, just toss the skank back in the trash where you picked her up from and forget about trying to change her. I'm sure she'd be just as happy not bathing and smoking forty a day," she says curtly, crossing her arms and shooting me a sarcastic smile, daring me to argue. Rachel starts to say something to me whilst harbouring an apologetic look but I turn fast on my heel and run in the opposite direction, not wanting to be near any of them.

As soon as I run, I kick myself mentally for not standing my ground and arguing back. _I don't care what people think! _I think, but my brain counters with, _then why am I running? _A tear escapes from my eye and whips back across my face as I run. Eventually I stop to catch my breath. I'm under the bleachers but the skanks are nowhere to be seen. I kick the ground angrily and let out a growl of frustration. I feel my whole body shaking and my fists are balled up tight, nails digging into my palm.

I feel a hand touch my shoulder and I turn around at lightning speed, knocking whoever it is to the floor. A small yelp gives away their identity before my eyes process who it is. I glare down at Rachel who begins to hoist herself up and smooth her dress whilst avoiding eye contact.

"I'm so sorry Quinn; I really didn't think they'd act like that."

"I don't care," I snap coldly. She brushes a tear away from my face.

"Yes. Yes you do," She says matter-of-factly. I inhale sharply, raising my shoulders in defence. "You put up this front;" she waves me down, "to make people think you're another bad-ass punk chick with a devil may care appearance and attitude to match. But you know what I think Quinn? I think you're a scared little girl that hides behind a huge wall because she doesn't know how to deal with her issues and she doesn't know how to reach out to people so they'll help her. That's why I called the-" She stops, hands flying to cover her mouth trying to take back the words she has just said.

I glower at her as her words sink in. _That's why I called. _Fury starts to pound throughout my body and every inch of hair on it bristles with anger and disbelief.

"It was you that called the social services," I say almost too quiet for her to hear. I inhale deeply, trying to control my rage but it's no use. "I can't fucking believe you did that! How the hell did you even know where to send them?" I shout.

"Your student record, it wasn't that hard to find out where you lived…" she mumbles, averting her gaze.

I shake my head fiercely. "Do you have any idea what he did to me?" I snap. "Your little call? Yeah, he thought I was the one that called and he beat the shit out of me for it! Look Rachel, look!" I say, almost screaming. I lift up my shirt, revealing not only the huge, yellow and purple bruises that cover most of my stomach and reach all the way around to my back but also the cuts I did last night.

Rachel stares in horror and she chokes on her tears, tearing her gaze away from my father's damage. "Quinn I'm so sorry I didn't know he'd do that to you! Why didn't you tell the social worker? Why are you still there?" She sobs back.

"Because…" I want to say, _because I know what it's like in foster care_! But deep down, I know that's not the reason. Sure it affects a lot of kids in a bad way but let's face it, it couldn't be worse than this. So I tell her the truth. "Because my father and that house are the only things that I have to remind me of my mom! She raised me in that house. All the memories I have are in that house and If I leave it all behind, I leave her too," I say, realising I'm also crying.

"Quinn," she starts but doesn't finish off her sentence. Instead she takes a tentative step towards me and when she realises I'm not going to run away again or push her away she hugs me gently but amorously. I feel her hand slide up the inside of my top and lightly touch the bruises and cuts. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I stand there whilst she hugs me in shock as I realise no one has been able to get this close to me since my mother's death. I shake my head and push her away from me, instantly missing her affection.

"Don't. It's better if you don't. Please Rachel, I'm asking you once more. Do not get involved with my issues. You're in way over your head. I know what's best for me right now, trust me." She wipes her eyes as more tears come. She shakes her head.

"I'm not giving up on you Quinn. You need someone to care for you, you're a wreck. You need a friend," she says softly.

"She's got friends Berry," sounds Shelia's voice from over Rachel's shoulder. All three skanks stand there, scowling at Rachel who looks at me with sad doe eyes and I have to stop myself from looking into them.

Rachel nods her head and brushes her hand against mine before turning to leave, giving me one last sympathetic look. She tries to pass Ronnie who holds her arm out to stop Rachel. "Hold up Berry, you think you can just walk out of here after you've made Quinn like that?" Ronnie gestures to me. Rachel's sad eyes have now become clouded with alarm and she glances at me for help.

"Please, I just need to get back to my friends," she mutters, gaze down.

The Mack laughs curtly. "I'm afraid it doesn't work like that _sweetie,_ you see, you've upset our home girl Quinn, now you've gotta' pay the price."

All three skanks start to advance on her, The Mack swiftly grips her arms from behind and Shelia holds her head up. Ronnie moves towards her with a bunched up fist, ready to impact with Rachel's pretty little face.

"Stop it!" I yell at them irately. The skanks look at me confused. "Just let her go, she didn't do anything to me, she just came to see why I was upset is all."

The Mack sighs, "Can't we just beat her up anyway? I've never liked the whiney little bitch!" Just then, I notice a cruel look cross Ronnie's face.

"I have an idea. Quinn? Why don't you do the honours? I mean, she's not your friend right? We are." I stare at her mouth agape, trying to comprehend what is being asked of me. "I mean, if you were friends, we'd have to hammer you both." I grit my teeth at her sick game, but before I say anything, I find my legs walking over to a crying, struggling Rachel who looks at me, face full of hurt.

"C'mon Fabray, we haven't got all day, I'm craving for a smoke here!" Spits Sheila.

I lick my lips and look at Rachel. She screws up her face in preparation for the blow. I swallow hard. I feel my fist ball up and I raise it. I hear the excited laughter of The Skanks as I'm bringing my fist towards Rachel's face but before I even know what I'm doing, the fist turns into my open palm which doesn't hit Rachel. Instead it taps her cheek ever so gently and I simply stare at my hand that's slightly smoothing Rachel's cheek. Her Chocolate eyes open and she looks at me bewildered, then alarm flashes across her face before I feel a heavy foot connect with my bruised side, sending me crashing to the floor. The Mack and Shelia shove Rachel down who lands on top of me, refreshing the pain in my side even more. She scurries up, apologising through tears, then crouches to help me.

The skanks start laughing and she glares at them, whilst trying to haul me to my feet. I can't get up yet, not only has the wind been knocked out of me but the pain in my side is unbearable and I suddenly realise I'm screaming with anguish.

"I knew she wasn't Skank material," says Sheila bitterly. "Now, get the hell out of our sights, both of you, and Quinn? Don't even think about coming back here. You've made your choice," she spits at me. They laugh at the mess that is me on the floor and start to walk off to the other side of the bleachers.

"Thank you," Rachel breaths and I feel the tiny drops of her tears land on my arm as she leans over me. I don't reply. I'm in too much pain. Rachel slowly moves my arm around her shoulders, wincing when I cry out.

After a lot of gentle movements and yelping, I'm up on my feet, supported by Rachel as my arm is slunk around her shoulders and hers around my waist, carful to try and avoid my painful areas. I smirk and she sees, looking at me baffled.

"How can you be laughing Quinn? You-"

"Short ass," I managed to splutter out. She sighs and smiles, realising that the height difference makes us look ridiculous as she tries to support me.

"Oh hush, before I put you back down!" she jokes and I laugh slightly, immediately regretting the pain it causes. "C'mon, I'll get you to the nurse."

"Uh-uh!" I hum, shaking my head.

"You can't be serious, look at you Quinn! You can't even stand up on your own!"

"No," I manage to say. "She'll ask questions. Please Rachel," I plea.

"Rachel sighs with frustration. "Well, what are we going to do then?" I break away from her, flinching as my body aches even more.

"See," I breathe, "I'm getting better as we speak. I have a free period next; I'll be okay, really." Rachel looks me over in concern.

"Why do you never listen to anything I say?" She smiles wanly.

"Same goes for you. I tell you to leave me alone, and look where we are." She laughs and brushes my cheek with the back of her palm.

"Thank you for not going through with hitting me Quinn, but this is my fault." I open my mouth to protest but she raises her hand to cut me off. "So, don't go home tonight. Let me take care of you. We have our homeroom project due in for tomorrow anyway, we can- well, I can work on that, and you can rest."

I ponder for a moment. I could go no problem. My dad would be too drunk to even know I wasn't there and even if he did, he'd get sick of waiting for his punching bag to get home so he'd just pass out. Besides, I could do with a night were I can sleep without worrying about getting hit or about not even waking up at all. I meet her gaze and smile warm heartedly. "Okay," I agree and she squeals, hugging me tight but let's go when I yelp.

"Sorry, sorry!"

I smirk, "C'mon Berry, just get me to the common room in one piece." She huffs and wraps an arm around my waist for support as we slowly make our way back to the school building.

As we walk or should I say, Rachel walks, I hobble, back to the school, I glance at Rachel through the corner of my eye. I smile at the way her silky brown hair settles over her shoulders and down to her breasts. I love the way she smells like sweets and freshness but most of all, I admire the way she has set about wanting to reach out the bitch of a new girl. I smile to myself but then an interesting thought plays out in my mind.

_Am I attracted to Rachel Berry? _


	8. Casa de Berry

**Yey update! :)  
Thank you to all those who favourited, alerted and reviewed, it's so awesome to get such great feeback from you all :) I don't know if you've noticed either, but the chapters are getting longer and longer ;D Well I hope you all enjoy this chapter :) It's got some cute moments in it. I have some great ideas for the next chapter too, lots of drama and angst with some faberry scenes too :) So stick around! And don't be afraid to tell me your thoughts :) **

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My heavy eyes slowly open, stinging in protest. I'm torn away from the last slivers of a dream I'm already forgetting as my body forces me into consciousness. I give my eyes and my brain time to adjust to the real world. My surroundings begin to make sense as do the past events that led me here.

I'm in the senior common room, slouched in a squashy armchair. My legs dangle freely over the arm and my head rests against the other. My gaze sweeps over the rest of my awakening body and I realise there is a navy-blue cardigan draped over me to keep me warm and comfy. I frown at the piece of unfamiliar clothing and drag it towards my face, ignoring the sharp pain that erupts from my muscles as I do so. The scent from the cardigan is familiar and floods my sense of smell with sweet, fruity perfume with just a hint of fabric softener.

I catch a small smile starting to tug on the corners of my mouth. The cardigan belongs to Rachel Berry. At first, I let the smile form on my face but I shortly remember my new found admiration for the short girl. I feel my face heat up and I blush, burying my head under the cardigan.

_I can't be attracted to Rachel. Purely because she's a girl and I'm not into girls. Am I? Sure I've found myself thinking, 'oh, she's hot' or 'she has a rockin' body' but did that mean I had feelings for the opposite sex? Or was it just this one girl, a girl who has ignored my horrid attempts to deter her and keep her as far away from me as possible? A girl who actually made me feel as though someone cared? A girl who has been the only person to hug me since my mother died?_ I sit in the chair pondering about what Rachel means to me and why I was having these confusing feelings towards to petite brunette.

_There's no way I could be attracted to her. I'm not gay. She's simply a girl who has befriended me and made me feel like I matter to someone again_. I finally conclude that I'm not attracted to her; rather, I have great admiration for the person she is. I smile uneasily and congratulate myself for clearing that up but the tugging sense of doubt and truth ache in the back of my mind and suddenly I'm not so sure with my thoughts.

I shake my head a little, as if willing the thoughts and confusion to simply drop of out my ears and dissolve onto the floor. I sigh and check the clock on my watch. _3:30. _Shit! I've slept right through my free period as well three of my other lessons and lunch. I bite my lip angrily and curse myself as I know that the school will have tried to contact Russell, seeing as I missed afternoon registration. I'm about to delve into despair at the thought of another beating that my body really couldn't handle today but then I remember that I'm not going home tonight. I'm going to Casa de Berry. Again I grin to myself, getting caught up in stomach fluttering relief. _Stop that. _I wipe the smile from my face and slowly move upright.

I breathe deeply, trying to steady myself and keep the pain at bay. I find that since my sleep, the pain has thankfully subsided a little. What was once an unbearable, exploding pain is now just a dull, throbbing ache with the occasional stabbing sensation if I move a certain part of my body in a certain way or speed. Eventually, I'm sat up right. My hands graze the pile of books that are on the floor besides me. I look at them in confusion. I didn't put them there so who- _Rachel. I love how thoughtful she is, wait, no. Stop._ Friends are supposed to be thoughtful and considerate anyway.

I distract myself from Rachel thoughts and grab my planner that's sitting neatly on top of the other books. I have Lit next. I sit here with ten minutes to go until next lesson, debating whether or not I should attend the lesson, but the argument to go is won when I realise there's one big reason for doing so. Rachel Berry also takes my Lit class. This time, I don't stop the Rachel thoughts; I sit there, grinning to myself stupidly.

On my way to Lit, I check my watch and realise I've still got eight minutes to kill beforehand. A dry feeling mulls in my stomach and I know it's time to get my nicotine fix, but where? If I went back to the bleachers, the Skanks would kill me- literally, and I don't know how much more my body can take for one day. I remember Ronnie telling me that on the really cold days, they smoke in the bathroom because the school are too cheap for smoke detectors in there. I pull out a smoke ready and march towards the bathroom.

Luckily there's no one in there so I immediately light up, watching as the thick, grey smoke swirls into the air and settles just above me. I flick ash into the sink and prepare for another toke. The door flies over and Rachel nearly crashes into me. She mutters apologies as she realises the person she nearly knocked over is me, then her chocolate eyes latch onto the cigarette blazing between my fingers and she frowns.

"Really Quinn, I wish you wouldn't smoke. It's so bad for you, not to mention the people around you!" She scolds.

I scoff. "It helps,"

"Yeah, helps kill you," she mumbles, gaze still fixated on my hand. She shifts her eyes towards mine, capturing them in a sparkling trance. I forget about smoking and gulp as she advances towards me. Before I know what's happening her face is just an inch away from mine and I swear my heart is about to rip free from my chest it's beating that fast. She stops short of my face, eyes still boring into mine. She smirks and grabs the cigarette from my hand, dropping it down the sink hole. She skips backwards, creating space between us as she wafts the air the smoke had previously claimed. I look down at my hand and frown.

"You know, I can just light another one," I say blankly as my heart regains its normal speed. I can feel myself blushing too, which causes me to blush even more. _Friendly thoughts, friendly thoughts. _

"Not whilst I'm here Fabray, I'll be damned if second hand smoke ruins my voice! Now c'mon, we're going to be late," she lightly touches my arm, making my muscles flinch with the surprise gesture. I nod dumbly and her eyes soften and fixate on my torso as a guilty look flashes over her face. "How're you feeling Quinn? Are you in pain?" I meet her goading look but shake my head. Unconvinced, she tentatively fingers the curved hem on my shirt and when I don't respond she lifts it up slightly, gasping as a hand flies in front of her mouth and she lets go of the fabric, hiding my multi-coloured skin. She looks down towards the floor in guilt.

"That bad huh?" I ask, trying to make fun of the situation but she doesn't laugh or smile. She nods her head slowly without a word. I turn towards the mirror and lift up my shirt, and raise a surprised eyebrow as I'm met with what used to be my stomach. From the bottom of my bra down to the waistband of my jeans there is literally no smooth, pale skin. It's either cut up and crusted with dried blood or is some shade of colour it shouldn't be. I cover myself and look at Rachel who looks like she's on the verge of tears. I place a hand on her shoulder, feeling a slight spark dance up into my fingertips and throughout my arm. "It won't take long to heal, trust me," I mutter, trying to ease her.

She shakes her head, not wanting to continue with this conversation and I let it drop. Instead she gently pries my hand off of her shoulder and keeps hold of it, leading me towards the door, muttering, "We're going to be late."

We walk down the corridor, still hand in hand. Neither of us is speaking and I keep catching glimpses of her out of the corner of my eye, not daring to look at her straight on. She looks serious but sad at the same time and I can't help but feel bad for making her feel that way.

I catch another glance and I have to hold my breath back. How could someone be so breathtakingly beautiful? More importantly, why was I just noticing this now? I dared to broaden my peripheral glance into a side view and let my eyes travel from her face to her neck, down to her body and slide right down those impossibly long legs for someone of her height. Her head turned towards me and I quickly removed my gaze, feeling my face heat up. She squeezed my hand before stating, "You first," she motioned at the classroom door and I let go of her hand disappointedly as I enter the room with Rachel following suit.

I sit in my chair next to Rachel with only a few minutes until the end of the lesson. I'm pretty sure nothing has actually entered my brain this lesson except the fact that I'm definitely not having friend feelings about Rachel. _What is wrong with me? Quinn Fabray isn't gay!_ I slouch my head in my arms and look at Rachel who is busy writing notes with a pen decorated with gold stars onto an equally decorated note pad. _God she's cute. _I bury my head into my forearms, cursing myself for thinking that. I'd heard of girl crushes before, maybe this was just one of those? Maybe it was just a phase that'd go before it even started. I sighed and looked at Rachel again, feeling a slight flutter in my stomach. _I really hope it's a phase. _

The bell rings, causing me to nearly jump out of my chair. It's now the end of the day, which means I'm going home with the brunette girl I'm currently staring at. She packs up her things then looks at me with a huge smile.

"Are you ready?" She asks excitedly. I can't help but smile back.

"Sure," I reply quietly. She helps me shove things in my bag and we head into the corridor and towards our lockers to get the rest of our things.

We're standing on the curb and a sliver, five door Audi pulls up besides us. Rachel grins at the vehicle, then at me, telling me to slide in the back. I do as I'm told and Rachel slots in next to me, breaching my personal space and letting her bare thigh touch my jeans. Her dress rides up as she sits down, revealing more of those luscious legs and I have to force my gaze away before my staring becomes noticeable. _Stop it Quinn! _

"Dads?" Rachel says, capturing my attention at the word. I'd never met a gay couple before and I was sure that the universe was trying to tell me something today. "I'm sorry it's short notice and I didn't call but would it be okay if Quinn stayed over tonight?" She with her best 'butter wouldn't melt' voice.

"So you're the infamous Quinn Rachel's told us so much about?" The Man in the passenger seat asks as he turns around and takes in my attire. "Love the 70's look kiddo," he says whilst adjusting his glasses. I smile in response and look at him. "Oh, I'm sorry, let me introduce us. I'm Hiram, Rachel's dad and this is Leroy," he touches Leroy's arm. "Rachel's dad," he finishes, smiling at his partner. Leroy offers a perky hello, still trying to concentrate on driving, I say hello back. "Oh and yes Rachel, Quinn's more than welcome to stay," he says kindly, shooting a grin at me.

"So, what do you girl's plan on doing tonight?" Leroy asks us. I look at Rachel to answer who's already one step ahead of me.

"We're going to work on that Barbra Streisand project; you know the inspirations thing for homeroom?"

"Ah yes, I remember," Hiram chirps in. "You're a fan then Quinn?" He looks at me, calmly waiting for my reply.

"Uh-"I say blankly, Rachel gasps and Hiram raises his eyebrows.

"_Please _tell me you know who she is?" He asks with slight panic in his voice. I shrug nervously and the whole Berry family gasp in disbelief.

"Oh you poor, arts, deprived girl!" Leroy says sympathetically. "If God had a vagina, she'd be God. Please Rachel, educate this naïve youth!" Rachel giggles at her father.

"Don't worry dad, I plan to!"

The rest of the car journey back to the Berry household is spent with all three of them talking about Barbra and with me quietly sat there, trying to be distracted by the talk rather than Rachel's amazing legs.

She looks at me and says, "Do you know my middle name's Barbra?" I smirk and she hits me lightly on the shoulder, sending tingles throughout my upper body.

"Mines Quinn," I say, seeing as though she's in a sharing mood. Rachel looks at me confused, tilting her head to the side, causing me to subconsciously lick my lips. _This really had to stop_. "My first name's Lucy but I stopped going by that name a long time ago," I tell her, aware of the unintentional pain in my voice.

Rachel searches my eyes, as though she's looking into my head. "Lucy Fabray," she says quietly, testing the name. "Doesn't quite fit your bad-ass image now does it?" she says sarcastically and quietly so her father's don't hear over their talking. Now it's my turn to hit her but my hand lingers longer than acceptable of her arm. She looks down at it then at me and is about to say something when the car pulls into a driveway and jerks to a stop.

"Okay girls, out, out, out. Here Rachel," Leroy says and hands her the house keys. She jumps out of the car and looks at me to follow. I look up at the large house. The garden is immaculate and decorated with flowers and trees that have started to bloom. The exterior of the house even looks brand new. Rachel shoves the keys into the door and with a twist of the handle, it opens up.

She steps inside and I step after her. _Wow_, I think as my mouth drops open. Really, I didn't know what else I was expecting. The house is so kempt and modern. I breathe in the sweet, flowery house smell. Rachel is halfway up the stairs and looks over her shoulder back at me and laughs. "God Quinn, it's just a house." I look at her, still dazed with awe. I want to tell her that you're bound to be amazed at a place like this when your own home is filthy and messy, harbours an abusive drunk and stinks of stale alcohol, but Rachel's dads come in behind me. Instead I shut my agape mouth and trot up the stairs after Rachel.

She stops at the door of her room and I notice a gold star stuck on the wood like a dressing room. I smile softly to myself at the thought of all the other gold stars dotted here there and everywhere on her things.

Inside the room, it's tidy and spotless. Everything is put away and everything has its place. The king sized bed has been neatly made, the white curtains drawn and the carpet is so clean, I take my shoes off so I don't mark it. I look to my right as I walk in and notice, Broadway tickets, pictures of famous actresses and actors that surround the biggest on of a woman who I presume is Barbara. I chuckle and Rachel turns around, looking at me curiously.

"You're big on the arts huh?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Are you kidding? It's my dream to be on Broadway! I want to be as big as her one day," she motions to Streisand's picture. "I'm gonna get there, no matter what." I smile and awe at her determinism and strong will. She really was focussed on achieving her dreams. The only thing I was focussed on was not getting beat to death by my father. "So," she starts, shifting the topic. "I've got a double bed but if you're not comfortable sharing, there's a guest room- though the bed's hard in that or I could sleep on the couch or-"

"I'm comfortable sharing," I say laughing to hide the slight eager edge in my voice. She beams at me with brilliant white teeth, making my stomach flounder even more.

"Well, I'll get started on this project and you can have a nap or something if you want? You look drained. I can always wake you up for dinner?" She checks her watch. "It's about 2 hours away so you'll get a decent little rest."

My eyes start to sting and I yawn as if on cue. "Guess I should," I laugh.

"Uhm, I know you didn't bring anything with you, what with it being short notice and all so, do you want something comfortable to change into?" I'd be wearing Rachel's clothes.

"Yes please," I manage to squeak. She turns her back on me and starts rifling through a set of draws and throws a pair of grey jogging bottoms and pale blue slouchy jumper at me.

I start to undress as she turns around, my t-shirt flung to the ground, revealing my battered torso. Rachel swallows hard, hurt shimmering behind her chocolate pool eyes but she doesn't turn away. She simply stares at the damage. She starts to walk over to me. I stop changing and stand there half naked.

"Why does he do this to you?" She asks sadly, staring at my body. Her petite hand reaches out and touches my bare skin making my muscles flinch.

"He blames me for what happened to my mom, I was the one driving. I lost control of the car. Ever since then he got more drunk and more violent. And here's the result," I say, waving a hand over my body.

A tear slips from the corner of Rachel's eye, "It isn't your fault Quinn, you deserve more than that." She closes the gap between us and I find myself melting into her embrace. Her face is pressed into my shoulder and I feel her tears wipe on my skin. I wrap my arms around her and hug her back, fully aware I'm only in jeans and a bra. She looks up at me without parting. "Oh Quinn, I want everything to be okay for you so badly, I really want to make it happen for you." I stare down at her, feeling tears of gratitude prick in my eyes. I hug her even tighter, ignoring the protest of pain. She breaks away.

"I'm sorry, you can finish getting changed now, oh wait," She rushes back to her drawers and comes back with a tube if cream saying 'Savlon'. "Rub this over the cuts, it'll help prevent infection." I can't help but smile at her caring nature as I take the cream.

She watches me carefully as I apply it to my cuts. "Does that help?" She asks quietly.

"I don't know yet, I've only just put it on Rachel."

"No, not the cream. I meant the self-harm." I flinch at the word and she notices. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't be asking such personal questions."

I sigh, "It helps. Well, for a little while. It makes me forget everything else in the world and for a few moments all I can concentrate on is the physical pain that's substituting everything else, but it's something I'm doing. I'm in control y'know?" Rachel half shakes, half nods her head as she gulps heavily.

"You should stop," she says. "One day you might-"

"Don't worry, I'm not suicidal Rach," I start laughing but she fixes me with a serious look.

"I mean it Quinn. I'm, worried about you. Every time you feel the need to do," a disgusted look washes over her face as she looks at my torso, "This, call me. Please. I promise I'll try and make the pain go away." Her eyes bore into mine, I've never seen her so serious.

"It's a habit Rach, it's not something I can-"

"Please Quinn. For me? I know you don't like me very much but I'd like to think we're good enough friends so you can do this for me," she whimpers.

I bite my lip. "I like you Rachel, I like you a lot. You're the only person who has ever tried to reach out to me since my mom died. You've already helped me more than you know. So yes, okay, I'll try… for my friend."

After I finish getting dressed into Rachel's sweet smelling clothes I lay on her bed and pull a thin cover over me, relishing the comfort. Rachel sits at her desk and starts tapping away on her laptop, unaware of the crush I'm harbouring for her. _Crush. _Is that what I'm labelling it now? Yeah, I think that's an appropriate start.

My eyelids start to feel heavy and the last thing I see before they shut completely is Rachel, turning around to check on me and I feel myself smile as I drift off into a blissful world of sleep.


End file.
